Free Gith by Chris Else

pissing me off, too. They had set up shop
in the back room of the community hall next to St Peter's.
There always seemed to be half a dozen of them about the
town now, working in twos: talking to people and checking
on vehicles. I'm not sure why, but seeing them out there had
started to wind me up big time. I guess I figured they should
be talking to me — or to Gith — even though we had told
them just about everything we knew already. Maybe it was
just that they hadn't taken any bloody notice.
    'They've got the wrong end of the stick, that's for sure,' I
said.
    'Bloody right. Bloody embarrassing, you know. And like
you said, a bloody nuisance.'
    'What did they ask you?'
    'Oh, the usual stuff. Just like on TV, eh. What was I doing
that day? Where was I? How's a bloke supposed to remember?
It was just like any other Monday at that time of the year. I
was probably out checking the fences. I sure as hell wasn't
down here. Not before five o'clock, anyway. And I sure as
hell didn't pick up any bloody hitch-hikers. That's the bloody
trouble though, eh. They just don't listen to you.'
    'No, they don't.' I hung up the nozzle, screwed his petrol
cap back on. 'There you go. Ten bucks' worth.'
    'Thanks. I'd fill the tank, you know me, but it's just a waste
of money in this heap.'
    'No problem. Take it easy though. The way that engine's
running you might be empty again before you get to the
pub.'
    'Aw, Jeez!' He pulled a face.
    ***
    MICHELLE AND I took Gith home to the house in Epuni.
She was doing okay by then. She could walk, although she
still dragged one foot a bit, and she could eat and generally
do the basics for herself. But she was still fragile mentally.
The slightest thing would throw her into a screaming rage,
like a little kid's tanty, or else she'd roll her eyes and curl up
into a ball like a baby in the womb. The two biggest problems
were that her short-term memory was pretty shot so she
couldn't figure out where she was or what she'd been doing
half the time — that and the fact that she couldn't say what
she wanted. She had been a real outgoing kid before, chatting
to everybody, and now all that was just gone. Talking was a
minefield. It was okay if you were telling her something or just
rabbiting on the way I'd done when she was in hospital, but
soon as anything came up where she wanted to join in there
was serious danger of a meltdown. It got so bad that Michelle
refused to say anything to her, didn't even like to be in the
same room as her. I felt sorry for them both. Being with Gith
was real difficult, but I could also see how bad it was from her
side. Her whole life had been destroyed, nearly. I mean, she'd
lost both her parents and she couldn't even tell anyone about
it. Sometimes she'd just sit there and cry, or stare at the wall
for hours at a time. Michelle found that nearly as bad as the
meltdowns, I reckon.
    During the day there was somebody to look after her, a
professional caregiver called Freda. She was about fifty and
she had dealt with people with head injuries and brain damage
before so I guess she knew what was what. I didn't like her
much — I wasn't sure she was as nice as she seemed. How was
she with Gith when nobody else was around? I had plans to
rig up a closed-circuit TV to keep an eye on her but Michelle
rubbished that idea pretty quick. I should leave Freda to do
her job, she said, and I should go and find a job of my own.
    In the end I did.
    Finch Street Auto was a small place, with four staff, and
it handled the usual range of repair and service work. I liked
the blokes there, especially Scotty Freedman. Scotty was
about the same age as me, a bit older than the youngest guy
but younger than George, who was in his forties and the
top mechanic. We were both married, too, although Scotty
had a couple of kids under five. It was Scotty who found the
Riley.
    It was a 1955 RME and it had been sitting in a shed in
Whitemans Valley for a good thirty years. The engine still
turned over but it